


Fireside Lessons

by untouchedandalive



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Description of Cunnilingus, F/M, Humor, Inappropriate Fruit Metaphors, Sex Education, Virgin Alistair (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25536892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchedandalive/pseuds/untouchedandalive
Summary: Sitting around the campfire one evening, Zevran is happy to share some instructional expertise with Alistair when it comes to wooing the Warden.Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose, deciding. He cleared his throat again and Zevran raised his eyes from his blade sharpening.“You know, maybe you could give me some pointers though. For hypothetical... exertions."The wicked look returned to Zevran's face. Maker, he could not believe they were going to have this conversation.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Fireside Lessons

“Let me go with you.”

The Warden turned back to face him. Alistair was asking for something she couldn’t grant, he knew. He asked anyway. 

Her shoulders dragged but her mouth curved upward slightly. She wasn’t falling for it. “You’re still injured.”

It was true, his side ached, the slice of a spider that had made it through the edges of his plate two days ago a stark reminder that he may be a Grey Warden, but he was still mortal. He didn’t like to think of the pale worry etched on her blood-splattered face when he had come to after.

Alistair hated spiders.

He grasped at any straw. “I can cover your flank. Tell jokes, you know you’ll need someone to keep you entertained with those two,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder to the companions waiting for her. In his peripheral vision of the camp, Ofghren and Leliana were speaking amongst themselves, shouldering packs. There was a report of darkspawn attacking a village nearby, they were to leave as soon as possible.

“We might be lacking for banter, that’s true. So hopefully you’re feeling up to hefting that shield around when we’re back,” she paused for a moment, laying a hand over his arm, let it settle there. He liked it, it made him feel… hers. Maker knows he was.

Her voice was quiet, her words just between them when she spoke again, staring into his eyes. “I’ll miss you. We’ll only be gone a few days though. And I need you here to come back to.” 

Something in his throat burned, some words floated in his head and tried to make it to his mouth. Not yet, he told himself. Lest he frighten her with his awkward confessions and embarrassing naiveté.

He nodded, angry with himself for not being in any condition to go, to watch her back. But she was right.

“Okay, okay. You win. I’ll stay and continue with my knitting lessons with Wynne,” he said, deeply sighing in a huff. It brought a grin to her lips, which was all he ever really wanted. To see her happy and laugh, as much as possible.

Alistair turned serious, in the way that only she ever really saw, and leaned in closer. “Just come back. Please.” His voice wavered more than he would have liked at the end, but he knew she didn’t mind. Her hand slipped down his arm and in an instant she had her other arm around him, careful, all too aware of his bandage.

“I’ll always come back to you,” she whispered, and then she was turning around to meet with her other companions. 

He watched them go, uneasy but resigned. He needed to rest and heal so he was prepared for the next time. There was always the next time.

* * *

After some time spent trying to focus on carving the figurine he had been working on, a windmill with roses, Alistair made his way over to the campfire and managed to sit down with only some discomfort. Zevran was across from him, sharpening a dagger.

“My good friend Alistair, how are you feeling?” The elf appraised him, eyes sparkling as usual. 

He stared into the fire, enjoying the warm glow. “Oh, you know. Fine. It's just a flesh wound.”

Zevran snorted. “Indeed. You are a sturdy one. I’m sure you haven’t let it get in the way of your exertions.”

Alistair looked up, raising his eyebrows. “Exertions?”

“With the Warden.”

Did he–? Oh. 

“There are no ‘exertions’ with the Warden. Maker,” he mumbled, trying to keep himself from sputtering, fairly confident he failed.

“Come now. Those longing looks between you. Taking your time at the end of a meal. Your evening strolls together to ‘fetch wood.’ We are not so innocent here. I think it’s charming. Truly.” Zevran looked a little wistful almost.

Alistair glanced about to see if anyone else was going to join them around the fire, for moral support or to participate in the ridicule, he wasn’t sure. But the coast was clear.

“Well, I suppose I am the only chaste one here, because nothing like that is going on between the Warden and I.” Not that he hadn't thought about it. He had thought about it, a lot. And he didn’t think she was opposed… actually, he knew she wasn’t. She’d idled some nights after their walks, fingers entwined, kissing him to the point of distraction. He just hadn’t quite gotten to the point where he could stop bumbling enough to ask her to join him in his tent. 

“Chaste, eh?” There was a mischievous glint to Zev’s look now. Andraste’s arse.

“I have not– never– we are not speaking about anything that may or may not have occurred.” He crossed his arms over his knees, almost ready to just give up and go hide in his bedroll. 

A silence settled between them, the only noise for a time the strokes of Zevran’s steel running over his dagger and the occasional crackle from the campfire.

“I apologize Alistair. In Antiva, these matters are more easily spoken about, I forget myself at times,” Zev said at last, breaking the quiet. His tone had lost any mocking edge and Alistair knew he was genuine.

“It’s alright. I just don’t want to speak out of turn for the Warden, she’s not here to defend herself.” He picked up a stick and stoked the fire. He wished she was here. Desperately. 

Zevran chuckled. “I have no doubt she would verbally eviscerate me if needed on the matter.”

“Unquestionably,” Alistair grumbled under his breath, remembering their early days too well. He cleared his throat. “Just to remind you, I was raised for some time in a monastery, before I was to become a templar. So, no, there’s nothing to say of any of that, for me.”

The elf considered, polishing his dagger slowly. “I see. I was wondering why I never saw either of you entering or leaving each other’s tents.”

“I wouldn’t even have the faintest idea what to do in a tent. No need to worry.” Alistair tried to say it lightly, but it sounded bitter, even to his ears.

They fell back into quiet, Alistair’s last words reverberating in his head. That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? He was afraid of what he didn’t know. Afraid of disappointing her, not being good enough, it all turned into a mess of awkward limbs and teeth clashing. Afraid that she would not feel the same. Afraid he would lose her. 

The look in her eyes flashed before him again. She was worried about the same thing.

And here he was, waiting for some perfect moment that may never come. When he just wanted to hold her, just the two of them, together. 

He was an idiot.

Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose, deciding. He cleared his throat again and Zevran raised his eyes from his blade sharpening.

“You know, maybe you could give me some pointers though. For hypothetical... exertions."

The wicked look returned to Zevran's face. Maker, he could not believe they were going to have this conversation. 

"Gladly. I have had many lovers and no complaints." His teeth flashed white in the gathering dark.

"Oh, well, that's a relief, to know you have had such glowing reviews of your performance," Alistair said, aware he was deflecting. It was just so much easier. 

"What is it you would like to know? Do you need… illustrations?"

He winced and sat back, questioning what he had gotten himself into. "Illustrations? Maker, no! I mean, I know– I think I have the general idea. Insert tab A into slot B and what have you. I've read _The Rose of Orlais._ Several times." Alistair let out his breath. "I just want– would theoretically want– it to be good. More than good."

Zevran replied almost immediately. "Use your mouth. Everywhere." 

Alistair blinked both at the lack of hesitation and the directness of his answer. Had he been waiting for this? _Damn._ He was sure his rapidly heating face was not from the fire. "Everywhere?" 

"Yes. Mostly I'm speaking of between the legs. Fingers too, you can experiment. One or two, maybe even three. But kissing and licking a woman there, that is a great pleasure in life, my friend." Zevran closed his eyes for a heartbeat as if reliving one of those great pleasures again.

Alistair glanced behind him again, certain Morrigan would be there, ready to laugh at him mercilessly. But thankfully they were still alone.

"Okay. Good to know. Anything… specific I should do with my mouth… everywhere?" His voice sounded much too high for his own liking. He rubbed the back of his neck instead of covering his face. Andraste's flaming sword, this was embarrassing.

Zevran set his dagger beside him and stretched his legs out closer to the fire, sitting back. "Go slowly. Imagine you are licking the most delicious… have you ice cream here in Ferelden?"

 _Ice cream? Frozen milk?_ "I have no idea what that is."

"Hmm. Nevermind. Maybe picture some kind of juicy fruit. The fruit is ripe, dripping, just waiting–"

Alistair had to interrupt. "Sorry, sorry, is this a citrus fruit I'm meant to be picturing here? A melon, something with a pit?"

Zevran snorted. "What is your favorite fruit, Alistair?"

He wanted to say tomatoes, because it was a fruit, wasn't it? But he had a feeling only the Warden would appreciate that answer, so he went with his next pick.

"Peaches. I like peaches."

Something about that was very funny to Zevran and it took him a minute to compose himself before going on. 

"Ah, don't we all, my friend. Indeed. Now, you have this beautiful, glistening peach in front of you. Use no teeth." He stopped to underline that point, shuddering a little to himself. Alistair wondered what terrible things had been done to his nethers with teeth. "Swirl and stroke with your tongue. Near the upper part there will be a small–"

"Wait, wait, are you still talking about the peach or a woman or–?"

"We are using the principles of how you would eat a peach as a metaphor for how you would eat a woman." 

Alistair’s face now felt like it was on actual fire as he thought of his head buried between the legs of one wonderful Warden. And about what kind of fruit he could get his hands on in short order. For science. "Right. Understood. Please, go on."

Zevran looked into the flames, thinking. "As I was saying, there is a small nub at the top, like a pearl. Focus on that, but not too much. Kiss, suck, circle, tease, travel a short distance and then return. Below that is the entrance."

 _The entrance._ Maker. He shivered.

"This is more like a delicate flower, blooming before you. You are familiar with roses, are you not?" An impish smile spread over Zevran's face.

"Yes, yes, I know what a rose is. Peaches and pearls and roses. Who knew we had the lyrical poet of Antiva traveling with us? Don’t we already have the bard role filled?"

The elf chuckled. "My pillow talk has left many partners panting in ecstasy, I will have you know."

Alistair dreaded to think of what that might look like. 

Zevran picked the blade back up and made another slow swipe against it. "As I was saying, you can spend some time at her opening. Similar technique with your mouth, or, this is where the fingers come in. Not always required but sometimes appreciated. It does help to curve them just slightly towards her front. Do this at the same time as your mouth is servicing her."

Leaning forward, Alistair listened intently. 

"This… hypothetical partner," Zevran grinned before continuing, "listen to her noises, her body. Or she may tell you. We men like things faster, harder, more intense. With ladies, that is not always the case. Mostly I have found they enjoy consistency, not stopping or changing too much. I trust you will know when you have reached the… peak of the matter.” 

Maker, it was so much to remember.

"That all sounds... reasonable. If a lot of multi-tasking.”

“Yes, well, you have mastered the art of using the sword and shield simultaneously, have you not? You’re not as dull in the head as some may think. Same principle. Think of this as… the art of the bedroom. Or tent, as it were. You’ll catch on.”

Alistair tried not to scoff too loudly at the backhanded compliment. Even if it was true. “What about… the act itself?" 

"After you have pleasured her fully this way, then you can proceed. Slowly, let her lead if you’d like. It is a journey. Not a destination. Although…" Zev stopped, thinking. "I would advise taking yourself in hand before visiting this person."

Alistair's eyebrows pushed together in a quizzical expression. "Take myself in hand?!"

Zevran smirked. "I don't know if that is against your Chantry rules also, but, you will last somewhat longer."

Oh. _Oh._ "Got it."

"There are different positions, it does not matter, her or you on top. If she has a preference, of course. With luck, you will learn them all in time." He laughed to himself again. "If you have the presence of mind, touch her there, between the legs, during. She may be satisfied again. But if not, it will come with practice. And better endurance."

"Practice," Alistair echoed, suddenly nervous again. It all sounded so abstract. 

"Yes, if all goes well, you can try again. And again," Zevran said, quietly muttering under his breath about hoping they did not wake the camp in doing so.

"My dear Alistair, techniques aside, perhaps the best advice I can give is to relax. You should laugh. It is a joyful thing. You will do funny things, so will she. It is a special thing between two people, but it is also one of the most enjoyable. Savor it."

He stared at the fire. Wishing his side would heal quickly. That she was safe. That he could find his courage.

* * *

The Warden returned, unharmed, and with a few more darkspawn kills under her belt. Life went on.

After her first night back there was something different in the air between her and Alistair, they all sensed it, a lightness. At dinner that evening, Alistair’s turn to make lamb and pea stew, there were complaints all around. Morrigan mused that perhaps one of Dog’s friends made its way into the pot. Except for the Warden. She ate a second helping, unprompted. Alistair practically beamed.

They sparred together, training, Alistair’s strength nearly fully returned. If anyone passing in camp noticed the way their hands lingered when picking each other up, or the time Alistair brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, they didn't comment. 

On the next stop by a village, Alistair volunteered to pick up food provisions. Everyone enjoyed the plums he found as an after dinner treat.

Their nightly forays to gather wood continued. Quiet murmurs and gentle laughs accompanied them wherever they went.

Perhaps a week went by, Zevran and Leiliana were sitting up by the fire one night, telling tales of murder and intrigue. Both of their eyes followed as the Warden led Alistair back to her tent, his hand falling to the small of her back. It seemed as if Leliana had won the bet amongst them all, and she softly gloated to him before they made themselves scarce. And stuffed cotton in their ears.

* * *

Several evenings later, the Warden on watch with Shale, Alistair found himself being called over by Zevran, sitting on some boxes with cards.

“Fancy a game of Wicked Grace, my friend?” Zevran questioned, cards running through his fingers. 

Alistair grinned down at the elf. “You’re shuffling that deck in such a way as I have the slightest chance of winning, I just know it.” Nevertheless, it would be fun, so he pulled up a crate of his own.

“I am many things, but a cheat is not one of them, dear Alistair.” He dealt the cards and studied his hand carefully. “Have you given any more thought to the tattoo?”

“Tattoo?”

“Yes, you mentioned you would like some ink of your own. Maybe a small one you said, most likely because you have an abysmally low pain tolerance for such a strapping lad, but I will not judge.”

Alistair played a card. “Oh, oh, right. I seem to recall you mentioning something about a rose petal bath and eating olives or some such. And I just can’t stomach olives. I’ll pass.”

“Pity.”

They each played several hands before Zevran at last broke the silence.

"So, I take it you are no longer woo-less?" he asked companionably, his gaze shifting from his cards to Alistair.

Of course he would ask. Of course.

"Uh. The wooing is going just fine, thank you very much," he answered, maybe a tad too snappily.

"I see," Zevran merely replied, amusement crossing his features.

Alistair couldn’t keep his knee from bouncing. He looked around before speaking. "I actually did want to thank you for our discussion the other night. It was… instructive. And," he paused, thinking, "you were correct about the… reception. No, um, complaints were lodged. Thank the Maker."

The elf certainly looked very impressed with himself. Alistair supposed he might have a right to. 

"Ah. That is most excellent to hear. Happy to be of help, my friend. And you know, when you're ready for more advanced learning, I really do have _The Illustrated Encyclopedia of the Sensual Craft_ –"

"No, no, that's quite alright, I'm all set with the wooing and fruit and flowers now, thanks," he interrupted, not ready to hear what further debauchery Zevran wanted to share. 

Some things were best discovered on your own.

His companion snickered. "Fair enough. One thing though," he was silent for a beat, a slow smirk spreading his face. "Might I enquire how the peach was?" 

Alistair blinked several times, deep red creeping up his neck as he glanced to his left and watched the Warden for a few moments from a distance. He swallowed.

"It was the best peach of my life.”


End file.
